photo illustration by Samara Pearlstein
Game over. Here are your numbers:
8.5. 4. 11. 3:30. 2. 13. 3.
8.5. The number of hours that this game lasted, counting from the time it should have started. Counting from the time fans arrived at the ballpark. Some of those people spent EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS in the ballpark. I once showed up for a Red Sox/Phillies game right when the gates opened. The game ended up going 12 innings. I was at the ballpark for around 6 hours. I thought I might die by the end of it. I can’t fathom 8.5.
4. The length of the rain delay, in hours. A 7 pm game started at 11 pm. I’ve been in rain delays. They are boring. Depending on the type of rain, they can be straight-up MISERABLE. FOUR HOURS of that? How was there anyone sane left in the ballpark?
11. The number of innings in this game. It doesn’t seem like so many extra innings until you realize that the game didn’t even START until 11 pm.
3:30. In the am. The time at which the game finally ended. Just for emphasis.
2. The number of triples hit by Curtis Granderson today. Unreal. Unreal. UNREAL. THIS KID. UNREAL.
13. The combined number of pitchers used by both teams today. Wholly half of a roster? Why, yes. Yes indeed.
3. The number of runs scored on the walkoff home run by CARLOS GUILLEN, NATIONAL AND INTERNATIONAL HERO, to win the game for the Tigers. Carlos Guillen is a man among boys and a giant among men. Carlos Guillen is a treasure. Carlos Guillen is a deity and people who were seriously considering replacing Carlos Guillen with Jack Wilson should shove their own pencils up their noses right now. Carlos Guillen is a myth, but he is also a man. Carlos Guillen is a unicorn being ridden by an entire litter of small kittens down a road made of cupcakes.
If Carlos had not hit that ball, we would probably still be watching the game right now. It would be the 14th inning and Ramon Santiago would be pitching. Jason Giambi would have eaten a rosin bag. Homeplate ump Bob Davidson would have actually hit someone in the face with his wrathful umpiring fists. Curtis Granderson would have hit another 2 triples. Edwar Ramirez would have found his missing D.
Thanks to Carlos Guillen, we instead get to keep the last flimsy shreds of our sanity. THIS time.
So many amazing things about this game. Andrew Miller, who Mario pointed out had won the Roger Clemens award last year (given to the best collegiate pitcher, on the assumption that the best collegiate pitcher is just barely good enough to resemble a fetal Sir Rog), went toe-to-toe with the Clem-bag.
Pudge hitting his hand on Jeter’s bat (maybe because Jeter CROWDS THE PLATE like nobody else in baseball, argh) and probably breaking something and staying in the game. It could have been swelling to the size of an ostrich egg and he would have insisted on staying in the game.
Posada getting into a huge screaming fight with the ump and getting tossed.
YEAH. Yes. What a game. What a win. I feel great. Tired, yes. Me. Am. Insert various ‘boo yah’ style grunting noises here. Feel the roar. I also feel like my ears are leaking out of my brains like oatmeal right now though, so take it all as you will.